


GoldenEye, Interrupted

by Zephyrfox



Category: GoldenEye (1995), James Bond (Classic movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: AU, Canon-Typical Violence, Don't copy to another site, Fix-It, M/M, WIP Big Bang 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2019-12-30 00:45:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18304751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zephyrfox/pseuds/Zephyrfox
Summary: James Bond entered the Arkhangelsk facility intending to destroy it with the help of his friend and lover, Alec Trevelyan. When his suspicions are aroused, he makes a decision that will lead him and Alec to challenge everything they thought they knew, and leave them in a place they never expected.





	1. Arkhangelsk

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting! The WIP BB is over, and the fic is completed. Thank you all for your patience, and I hope you enjoy the expanded version of the fic. It's now 9 chapters long.
> 
> Please note, the first chapter has been edited, so while it's mostly the same, there are a few changes. 
> 
> GoldenEye Interrupted now has amazing cover art by [Electric_Heart!](https://electric-heart.dreamwidth.org/) You can find it [here.](https://wipbigbang.dreamwidth.org/81860.html) Go take a look!
> 
> Enjoy!

 

James Bond made his way through the complex hugging the shadows, trusting the black of his combat suit to help hide him rather than stealing a uniform. His mental map of the facility highlighted a particular storeroom as his goal. He was on a deadline, and so far hadn’t come across any alarms. He’d taken care of the one soldier he’d interrupted. He ducked behind a convenient cabinet as one of the soldiers tramped past him. With any luck the man wasn’t headed for the loo, and the unconscious soldier he’d left there wouldn’t be missed for a while.  

He peeked around the final corner. The storeroom was almost directly across from him, its entrance visible to anyone who might be in the hallway crossing his. He checked his watch. _Good._ Right on schedule. He listened carefully, straining his ears to make sure the way was clear before darting across, opening the door and slipping through it in one motion. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, straining to hear any indication through the metal that someone had seen him. After a moment he took a breath, allowing himself to relax minutely. The only sound he could hear was the almost subliminal hum of the distant generators. He turned to scan the room, searching for enemies. His eyes widened as a shadow detached itself from the far wall, becoming a man dressed all in black, with a pistol aimed straight at his heart.

“Don’t move!” the man ordered in Russian. “Where are the others?”

James froze, fighting to keep his face showing an agent’s blank mask. “I’m alone.”

“Aren’t we all?” The man switched smoothly to English as he holstered his pistol. “You’re late, 007.”

James allowed himself a little shrug, still keeping a tight rein on his emotions. They were here for a mission, not anything more. “I had to stop in the bathroom.”

Alec Trevelyan flashed him a bright smile, there and gone again, at his joke. “Ready to save the world again, 007?”

 _Not really,_ he didn’t — couldn’t — say. There were other things he’d rather do, even though he knew there was no time for them. They had to keep to their schedule. But in a moment of weakness, he allowed himself the time to scan the other man for injuries. Finding none, he nodded, relieved. “After you, 006.” 

Instead of turning away, green eyes locked onto his, as if trying to send some message. He frowned, puzzled. “Alec?”

Instead of answering, Alec simply murmured _, “James,”_ and surged forward, forcing him back a step, only to hit the wall behind him with a thump. His arms automatically came up, returning Alec’s embrace. Their mouths opened eagerly as their lips met, allowing their tongues to slide sensuously against each other. Alec pressed against him, as if trying to merge them both into one being. James found he was perfectly fine with that idea as they clung together.

Finally, inevitably, their kiss ended, leaving them both panting. He rested his forehead against Alec’s, rubbing them together. “What’s wrong?” 

Alec pushed back from James with obvious reluctance, and looked away. “Nothing. I missed you.” 

 _Right._ He stroked Alec’s cheek, still puzzled. They hadn’t seen each other in months, and this reaction was nothing like his lover’s usual behavior. Not that he minded taking the time for a reunion, but it wasn’t the time or the place. He sucked in a breath as Alec nuzzled into his hand to press a kiss to his palm.

Alec covered James’ hand with his own, and paused, as if he wasn’t sure what to do next, or was waiting for a reaction. Then, with a self-deprecating smile, Alec gently tugged James’ hand away from his face, tangling their fingers together with a squeeze before letting go. With a deep breath, Alec closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the normally mischievous green was shadowed with something James didn’t understand. “Ready?”

“No.” James studied Alec once more, uneasily aware that there was something off about the whole situation. Alec had never been anything less than confident before a mission, let alone whatever this was. “What’s wrong?”

“Other than this whole fucked up mission?” Alec shot back, his voice laced with sarcasm and suppressed anger.

“What?” James tilted his head to the side, baffled. Perhaps he’d misheard? They were here to destroy the cache of chemical weapons, as well as the factory that produced them. It was same sort of thing they’d both done countless times before.

Alec’s expression was one of sheer disbelief. “You can’t tell me you think it’s a good idea for me to go on an open-ended undercover assignment, with no real backup, to shadow a Soviet _colonel,_ for intel? I don’t know who thinks Ourumov might be an up-and-comer worth keeping an eye on, but the man’s a popinjay, overly impressed by his own self-importance.”

James’ stomach turned over. That sort of mission… No backup? And _open-ended?_ Alec would be lucky to survive for any length of time, let alone the years the mission implied. He shook his head, as if denying Alec’s words would make them unsaid. “That makes no sense. What the hell are you talking about?”

“The mission,” Alec said, enunciating clearly, but at least now he appeared to be as confused as James felt.

“The _mission,”_ James repeated, keeping his eyes on Alec, alert for any change in demeanor, “is to destroy this place. You were supposed to make sure that the chemicals wouldn’t be moved until I could get here with the timers.”

Alec huffed a laugh, “No, that’s what I _wish_ the mission had been. That at least makes sense. Instead I’ve been cozying up to Ourumov, and sounding him out about wanting a traitor Double O on his team. Let me tell you, James, that’s as unsavory saying it as it was hearing it when Pollard briefed me.”

He recognized the ploy. Alec wanted to know who briefed _him._ The thought that his lover might not trust him fully stung, but Alec had a point. They needed to compare their information. The only problem was — “Pollard briefed me, too. The mission was to destroy the factory. You’d been gone about a week and a half when I finished my last mission and was reassigned to back you up.” He paused as an odd detail in his orders suddenly made sense. “That does explain why Pollard said not to contact you before I infiltrated the complex. I thought he meant it could risk blowing your cover, but that’s not it. It we got a chance to compare notes he knew the whole thing would unravel.”

Anger warred with confusion in Alec’s eyes. “What the hell is going on? Why the different briefs? Pollard doesn’t strike me as being careless enough to make a mistake assigning missions. He’s not a mastermind type, either.”

“I agree. But what if someone was using him? I only had a few hours to prepare before catching my flight, but then I had a twelve hour layover in Riga. Typical time mismanagement from the bean counters in Travel, or so I thought. But then I ran into 004 as I was leaving.” James noted Alec’s eyes narrow slightly at the mention of their fellow agent. “She told me there was a bit of a stir ongoing at Six. Pollard collapsed in his office not long after I left England, and wasn’t expected to live. At the time, it didn’t seem significant.” Now was a different story, with Alec’s information giving 004’s tale a different perspective. His instincts were sounding an alert in the back of his head. They ought to withdraw and figure out why there was such a disconnect between their orders. From the tightening of Alec’s lips, it was apparent that he felt the same unease.

“And that’s not at all suspicious, is it?” Alec ran a frustrated hand through his hair, leaving it disarray. “It’s a damn shame we can’t use those dummy timers and blow this place up for real.” 

James pulled his attention away from the dark blond curl that flopped over Alec’s forehead, making his fingers itch to brush it away. His eyes widened as something ugly started to take shape in his imagination. “Alec… they _are_ real.”

Horrified understanding sharpened Alec’s gaze. “If we hadn’t talked, and I set them, not knowing…”

“We might both have been killed,” James finished grimly. 

Alec whirled with a strangled yell, fury exploding from him, as he punched and kicked the nearby boxes in near silence.

James waited until Alec’s anger wore itself out against the inanimate foe and moved close to hold him from behind, his arms around Alec’s chest.

Alec’s arm came up, holding his. “James…”

He ran his tongue along Alec’s ear, then nipped at it. “Are you calm now?”

A heavy sigh moved his arms. “Yeah.” Alec’s voice sounded rough, as if he had exhausted himself.

James ran through the possibilities, trying to see outcomes and pitfalls of their actions. He abandoned the schedule that was still ticking down in the back of his mind. He wanted nothing more than to grab Alec and run. Get them both out of there and fall back to somewhere safe to figure out their next step — but would that be a mistake? _Fuck._ “I see one option. We continue with my mission, but we fake yours.”

Alec shifted in his arms, turning to face him. “What do you mean?”

“You’re supposed to, what, fake your death, and work with Ourumov? Send information back to Six?”

“Yes,” Alec nodded cautiously. “How did you know?”

James shrugged. “You were surprised the timers were real, and you wondered what information Ourumov could have. So, now, we —”

“So,” a smile of understanding spread across Alec’s face, “we destroy this place according to your brief. Then we both go back to England, you report to Six that I didn’t make it, and we smoke out the one who betrayed us.”

James bared his teeth in a feral grin. “And we will make them _pay.”_  
  



	2. The Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Alec make their plans and carry out the mission. of course, things never go as easily as planned, but they won't let that stop them.

 

Alec’s eyes darkened as they dropped to his mouth. James found himself growing hard as the tip of Alec’s tongue peeked out, moistening his lips. _Fuck._ Then he laughed at himself. Yes, but they had no time for that. “Alec…” 

“Fuck,” Alec growled, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “I know. Later, then?” 

James knew better than to make promises — anything could go wrong, even as well trained as they were — but he wanted to. “It’s a date,” he said, hoping that events wouldn’t make a liar of him. He took Alec’s hand, bringing it up to his lips, and brushed a kiss over the torn and bleeding knuckles. 

Alec made an inarticulate sound in the back of his throat. Pressing close again, he slotted them together from shoulder to crotch and kissed James thoroughly. 

James groaned, leaning into the kiss, ignoring the countdown in his head that had begun whispering they’d been in the storeroom too long. Everything about the mission needed to be questioned, but he’d never question Alec.

A series of tones over a loudspeaker startled them apart. James asked, “What was that?”

“Shift change,” Alec said, easing back with a frustrated groan. “There will be about half an hour where people are moving around before things quiet down again. We need to plan our next moves.” 

Several ideas for how they could spend that half hour flickered through his mind, but he regretfully dismissed them. Mission now. Sex later. “What plans do you have in place for your brief? My orders were to join you here, then we’d go to the chemical storeroom and set the timers. You would have our exit already set, and we’d blow the place on our way out.”

Alec shrugged a shoulder. “Ourumov knows I’m MI6. He expects another agent to show up at some point. I didn’t tell him when, so that his ‘surprise’ would look natural. He’s agreed to fake my death and let the other agent go free, although that took some doing. He wanted to kill whoever the other agent was, and for me to go back to MI6, so I could bring him back new intel. I had to convince him that was a mistake, and that MI6 would figure out I was double-crossing them.”

James stared in stunned disbelief. “And he _bought_ that?”

Alec nodded.

He snorted. This Ourumov sounded like an idiot. “So what’s our plan?”

“There are explosive charges throughout the chemical factory and the warehouse, set to trigger if there’s a spill. Even the Soviets know this stuff is better off buried under tons of rock rather than leaking into the atmosphere. I’ve already rigged some charges throughout the rest of the complex. With the timers you brought, we can detonate them in sequence with the failsafe charges. The entire base will essentially implode.” Alec’s eyes lit up with anticipation. “Total destruction.”

“Good.” James smirked. He had an idea. “Anything in particular you want to do with Ourumov, or do we let him, ah, go down with the ship, so to speak?”

“I can’t believe he actually knows anything. But ... we might as well make sure.” Alec’s grin turned predatory, and James had to shove down his surge of desire. “If nothing else, we can report that he’ll never become a threat to England.”

“I like the way you think, my dear.”

 

* * *

 

James lifted the grate that was their exit from the tunnel and peered out. He saw boots walking away, down the hallway, but he ducked back down just to be safe. He nodded to Alec, who grinned back at him. 

They hadn’t been able to find Ourumov, although Alec had been sure the colonel hadn’t left the facility. Since their prey was nowhere around, they had taken the opportunity to search his office instead. There’d been no indications why someone from MI6 would have thought sending Alec undercover to spy on him would make any sense. They had decided to finish the mission and destroy the facility. Ourumov would then no longer be a problem — he’d be dead.

He lifted the grate again; this time the way was clear, so he signaled to Alec and climbed up.

They made their way down the hallway, wary and alert. He headed for the warehouse door at the end of the hall, while Alec swung into the lab and shot the scientists working there. Neither of them was fond of unnecessary killing, but anyone working there would be killed during the explosion anyway. This way they wouldn’t have to worry about a curious scientist wandering into their path while they were setting the timers.

He pulled the lock picking device out of his pocket and set it into the electronic lock. He frowned at it for a moment, trying to remember which button Q had told him to press. He chose one at random, stabbing it with his finger. Hopefully it was the right one… He was rewarded with a faint hum as the lights on the device flickered to life. Alec joined him at the door just as the device clicked, its lights turning green. _Thank you, Q,_ James thought, pushing the door open for them to enter.

He took point and crouched by the railing that overlooked the warehouse floor. Alec followed, grabbing the device from the door lock, and joined him at the rail. The room held row upon row of gleaming vats and stacked barrels, all full of chemical death and destruction. He hated the thought that someone out there — someone at MI6! — had wanted the mission to fail, leaving the chemical weapons intact. At least he had followed his instincts earlier and talked to Alec. He shuddered to think what might have happened if he hadn’t. Now, the mission would succeed. They would destroy this place and the people who created these weapons.

“Should I lock the door?”

James shook his head. “We won’t be in here long enough.”

Alec nodded and handed the device back to him. They couldn’t let the Soviets get hold of one of Q’s prototypes. James shoved it back into his pocket. “Let’s go.” 

“Set timers to six minutes,” Alec called as they ran down the stairs.

“Six minutes, check,” James responded tersely. They split up, moving between the cylinders to set the timers. James was almost done when an alarm blared, accompanied by lights flashing. _Fuck._ He looked up, to where Alec was setting a timer on a  stack of barrels several feet away. “Someone must have discovered the guard I left in the loo.”

“In the —” Alec broke off, giving his head a shake as if he didn’t believe his ears. “You couldn’t have mentioned that earlier?”

“I did —” James paused at Alec’s raised brow. Oh. No, he hadn’t mentioned it, had he? Only the joke about stopping in the bathroom. He smiled sheepishly. “We weren’t supposed to be here that long. I forgot.”

Alec swore. “Ourumov will head directly for the warehouse. When he finds the men that I killed, he’ll know I’m double-crossing him. Soldiers could show up here any minute.” Alec huffed a breath. “No help for it now. Let’s just get this done and get out, shall we?”

Before James could respond, several Soviet soldiers burst into the room. Alec waved to him to stay put while slipping out from between the cylinders, towards the open area by the door. James scanned the area for other targets while Alec shot the soldiers.

“Finish setting the charges,” Alec called, scooping up the rifles and heading for the opposite side of the room. “I have an idea.” As he crossed paths with James, he tossed over one of the rifles.

James didn’t bother replying as he caught the rifle and pivoted back into the stacks. He only had a few more timers to set. 

The chatter of automatic rifles cut through the air as a squad of soldiers shot out the window overlooking the warehouse. James looked over in time to spot Alec ducking behind a stack of barrels.

“Closing time, James, last call!”

With grim laugh, he called back, “Buy me a pint!” He only had to set two more timers.

Soldiers poured through the opening, several of them taking pot shots into the stacks of barrels.

_Shit._ “Close the door, Alec, there’s a draft!” One timer left.

Several shots rang out, followed by a cheerful, “Just a bit of a breeze.”

One of the officers shouted, “Hold your fire, you’ll blow the gas tanks!” James automatically translated the Russian in his head. At least _someone_ on the Soviet side had some sense. He knew Alec wouldn’t have fired unless he was damn sure of hitting his target. The Soviets were taking pot shots at anything that moved, including shadows.

Movement to his left had him swinging around, automatically bringing his rifle up and aiming it, only to see Alec, peering around a stack of barrels at the Soviets in the middle of the room. James immediately shifted his aim downward. 

“Come out at once!” The Soviet colonel’s voice had grown strident, and he’d switched to English. James smirked. Sounded to him like that tone was covering a severe lack of confidence.

Alec turned towards him with an alarmed expression and everything exploded in a blaze of pressure and heat. He hit the floor, stunned, and everything went dark.

 

* * *

 

Alec groaned when he heard Ourumov’s voice ordering them to come out. Once, that would have been his signal to lay down his weapon and kneel, defenseless, in front of the colonel. To fake his death. If MI6 had sent any other agent — if James hadn’t sensed something wrong and made him talk — he might have gone. He would have become a traitor, all unknowing. They needed to get out of here, to find out who had tricked them.

He moved closer to James’ position and looked around the tall cylinders. Ourumov was there, strutting like a peacock. As he watched, the colonel’s expression soured. No doubt because he hadn’t made his way out from between the barrels. He fingered the remote control he’d grabbed. All he had to do was hit the button and the conveyer belt on the far side of the room would activate. Instant diversion.

“Come out at once!”

Alec smirked at the anger in Ourumov’s voice. He stopped smirking when one of the soldiers next to the colonel decided to aim into the stacks of barrels. He could see the man’s finger tighten on the trigger… He turned, searching for James. The shot rang out before he could yell a warning, followed closely by an explosion that hurled him into barrels stacked behind him. 

He gasped, stunned, and tried to drag suddenly overheated air into his lungs. He pushed himself off the barrel and staggered towards the spot he’d last seen James. Thick smoke poured out of the barrel that had exploded, tainting the air with noxious fumes. Coughing harshly, he dropped down to the floor, hoping that the air would be clearer. It was, a little, at least. All around, he could hear screams and moans from the soldiers that had been in the room. He closed his eyes against the irritating fumes and crawled forward.

His hand struck cloth, wrapped around a leg. _James?_ The cloth felt right, just like his own. The ominous crackle of a fire grew closer. He worked his way up to James’ head. He was still breathing, but unconscious. 

“Sir?”

Alec rolled to his side, drawing his gun and opening his eyes. The smoke swirled clear just enough to see one of the young soldiers, crouching nearby with his rifle aimed loosely at them. “Are you going to kill us, Rodion Zakharovich?” he asked, his voice already raspy from the toxic fumes. 

The young soldier blinked against the fumes, then his awkwardness vanished as he went to one knee in a stable firing pose and slowly raised the muzzle of his rifle.  



	3. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Alec survive their close encounter with death and find a place to hide and recover.

 

The bark of the Soviet soldier’s rifle echoed off the cement walls of the warehouse. Alec braced himself for the shock of a bullet, but felt nothing. _Had Rodion shot James?_ But no, a sharp cry came from behind them. Alec twisted in time to see another soldier fall to his knees with a puzzled look before collapsing the rest of the way to the floor.

Rodion had shot the other soldier instead. 

He twisted back around, blinking eyes still stinging from the chemical laden air. “Why?”

“The colonel said you were a traitor, sir, but he’s dead and you’re a better man than he was. I’ll follow you.” 

There would be time for questions later. He nodded, accepting Rodion’s words. “Help me with him. We need to get out of here.”

Rodion didn’t question the order; he simply slung the rifle over his shoulder joined Alec in lifting James, to carry him out before any more of the barrels exploded.

  

* * *

  

A man doodled on a notebook at his desk while mentally reviewing his plan. If anyone dared to peek into his office, he would appear hard at work. Not that he expected any of his underlings would dare to interrupt him, of course. His plan had taken an unavoidable hit with Pollard’s death, but it couldn’t be helped. Pollard’s cold feet could have endangered everything. Well, that’s what he got for appealing to patriotism over finance. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. 

At least Pollard had gotten Bond on his way before suddenly discovering a conscience. Now, no matter where the mission fallout landed, it would be a win for him. If all went according to plan, Trevelyan and Bond would be working at cross purposes, all unknowing. One working to destroy the factory while the other tried to protect it. Bond would accuse Trevelyan of being a traitor, perhaps even try to kill Trevelyan. 

The man smirked. If Trevelyan survived and sent back usable intel, he could feed it to one of his own agents. If not, Trevelyan would simply be dead. Perhaps even dead and disgraced, which would be a plus. Bond would hopefully be dead, too. Then there would be two Double O slots open for his own men.

Yes, he had recovered well. He already had another little worm on his hook in agent assignments to replace Pollard. Money really was the ideal inducement for recruiting. And the youngster he had in Q-Branch was quite good — the timers Bond carried were guaranteed to go off after they were set in place whether they were triggered by the agents on site or not.

Looking farther afield, he might have a problem with his new agent in Station H, Hong Kong. He hadn’t heard from the man in a few weeks. Still, he was confident his agent was working hard to destabilize Sino-British relations. Handing over Hong Kong to the Chinese might not be for another ten years, but he had always preferred to take the long view.

Soon, everything would be would be ready, and he would strike. The resulting revelations would send shockwaves throughout MI6. Then he’d have his chance to lead.

He put aside his notebook and turned to the stack of folders on his desk, giving his doodles no further thought. If anyone had looked, however, they would have noticed that the man had doodled the same thing, over and over. The page was filled with the swooping lines of a single letter written in cursive, as if he had been practicing a signature. 

M. M. M. M. M.

 

* * *

 

James woke slowly to a cacophony of aches and pains, all clamouring for his attention. _Where was he?_ From the throbbing in his skull and the nausea trying to claw its way up from his stomach, he had a concussion. But he wasn’t in hospital, or even MI6. The soft surface he was lying on had a soft wall along his left side, and the pillow under his head was braced against something firm. A couch, then. And from the smells of cooking, he must be in someone’s home. It was probably something appetizing, but his stomach roiled in protest at the thought of food.

A telly or radio was on, the announcer droning something in Russian that he couldn’t understand. _That’s odd._ He knew the language, he should understand the words. There were other voices in the room as well, having a conversation he couldn’t quite make out. Two men, or was it three? At least one was older and one younger, and there was a young woman who spoke occasionally. _What was going on?_ He didn’t feel as though he was danger, but why?

He tried to focus on the last thing he remembered — _Alec!_ The explosion at Arkhangelsk. _Was Alec all right?_ He groaned as he tried to move.

“Ah, good. You’re finally awake.”

He flinched as Alec’s cheerful voice sent spikes of pain stabbing through his head, then wished he hadn’t when the flinch woke painful bruises on his shoulder. He changed his mind about being worried. “I’m going to kill you.”

“You wouldn’t kill me. You love me.” Alec’s voice came nearer, until it sounded as though he was standing right next to the couch.

“Fuck off.” James opened his eyes and found that the room was dimly lit, rather than filled with light that would be too bright with a concussion. He turned his head slowly and blinked, trying to focus his fuzzy eyes on Alec. “What happened?”

“What do you remember?”

“What the hell do you think?” he grunted, attempting to sit up. Everything spun, but pride demanded he keep his teeth locked against the vomit that threatened to rise.

Alec snorted and pushed his chest lightly, forcing him to lay back on the couch. “You tell me. The last few times you woke up, you were still fairly out of it.”

“Fucking concussions.” He closed his eyes, trying to remember more than _heat_ and _pressure_ and _pain_ that ended in darkness. “We were going to blow up the chemicals, but the explosion came too soon. One of the soldiers, or our timers?”

“Soldier.”

James huffed a laugh, because of course it had been one of the soldiers. They had shot at anything that moved, and obviously at the barrels that hadn’t moved. He tried to shift onto his side with another groan. He wasn’t looking forward to the pain and dizziness that would hit again when he tried to stand.

“Take it easy, you fool,” Alec admonished. 

James didn’t bother responding. Instead, he asked, “Where are we?” Maybe he shouldn’t get up right away. He decided he’d wait for the nausea from attempting to move onto his side to pass.

Silence.

Slightly worried now, he asked, “Alec?”

Alec blew out a breath. “When I got here, I thought I was going to be alone on a long term assignment. I started courting one of the soldiers to be an informant, or possibly a courier.”

“Yeah?” That made sense. Why was Alec being hesitant? It wasn’t as though James had never courted an informant while on assignment. Usually literally. Although — if he were being honest — he might have a _tiny_ jealous steak where Alec was concerned. But really, it was less jealousy than wanting to protect what was _his._

As if reassured by his response, Alec continued. “Rodion Zakharovich Bazin. He was one of the soldiers shooting at us. When he recognized me, he helped get you out of there. We’re at his girlfriend’s parents’. The girl’s father is a doctor. Of course, he expects to be well compensated for harbouring fugitives.”

James laughed drily. “Of course he does.”

“Now that you’re awake, I’ll let him examine you again. After that, I need to go out to make arrangements to get you back to England. I have an old contact that should be able to help.”

James didn’t like the sound of that. He didn’t want to be left alone in a stranger’s house when he couldn’t defend himself, and he didn’t want to go back to England without Alec. “We could go back together.”

“I thought I would —” Alec stopped short, eyeing him with worry.  “We can discuss strategy later. I’m going to get Meklin. You look like shite.”

He felt like shite, but it was easier to say nothing and let his head fall back onto the pillow. 

Alec called the older man over, looking more worried when James couldn’t understand what the older man said. Still, Alec said nothing, and simply stood by and translated everything that needed to be said.

 

* * *

  

Meklin, James learned later, was Doctor Kiril Vasilievich Meklin. His daughter, Zhenya Kirillovna, was the girlfriend of Alec’s young soldier friend, Rodion Zakharovich. 

After a sleepless night, where Alec woke him every hour to make sure he could wake up, James managed to pull himself upright and join everyone in the kitchen. The lady of the house, Roza Borisovna, eyed them suspiciously as he and Alec sat at the family table eating buttered bread and drinking tea. Well, _James_ was eating bread, about the only thing he could stomach that wouldn’t set off his nausea. Alec was tucking into a large breakfast, along with Meklin and Rodion. James would be envious, but he had his hands full concentrating on keeping his bread down. 

Zhenya got up from the table and fiddled with the radio. Something upbeat came on in the middle of a song, and she smiled. Zhenya hummed and moved to the beat as she retrieved a pitcher of juice from the refrigerator and brought it to the table. “This might help with your stomach,” she said, pouring a glass and setting it in front of him. Her English was good, and only lightly accented.

“Thank you.” He sniffed at it — it smelled of berries — then took a cautious sip. “It’s good.”

She smiled, pleased. “If you —” 

“Zhenya!” her mother snapped, beckoning the young woman away from him with an emphatic wave of her hand. The resulting burst of Russian was a bit too fast for him to catch right now, but at least he understood most of what she said this time, and could fill in the rest. Mothers were the same the world over when it came to keeping their daughters away from strange men.

Rodion kept his head down, and Meklin sighed, patting the young man’s hand. Approval for staying out of things, no doubt. Then Meklin raised his voice, silencing his wife’s tirade. She snorted, but turned back to the stove. Zhenya bit her lip in an effort not to smile, then bent to kiss her father’s cheek before retaking her seat next to her boyfriend to finish her breakfast.

Alec caught his eyes and smirked. It wasn’t the first time either of them had gotten caught in the crossfire of a family argument. 

On the radio, the song ended, and an announcement took its place. Something about all military members reporting to their stations immediately, James thought, and looked over at Rodion.

The young soldier had a resigned expression as he put down his fork and stood. “I must get back to duty. Zhenya —”

The announcement cast a cloud over the meal. James got up, followed by Alec, and they stepped into the living room to allow the young couple some privacy. No one knew when Rodion would be able to return. 

James sat on the couch, out of the way as Rodion prepared to leave. As far as he could tell, Meklin and his daughter were leaving, too. Meklin for his job at the local hospital and Zhenya for the university, leaving him and Alec alone with a woman who was none too happy about them being present in her home. James only realized how wrong he was after the Meklins and Rodion left. 

Alec sat next to him, leaning close to whisper, “I’m going out, too. I need to retrieve my codebook and some equipment. I have an idea to find out who betrayed us at MI6.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can barely stand.” Alec shook his head. “Look, I know you don’t want to be here with Roza, but she won’t do anything. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

His shoulders sagged. He knew Alec was right, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. “Be careful.”

“When am I not careful?”

He snorted. “Always.”

“It’s almost as though you know me,” Alec smirked, giving James’ leg a surreptitious caress as he stood. “Just get some sleep. You’ll barely know I’ve been gone. We can plan our next step when I get back.”

 


	4. Making Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Alec regroup and recover as they plan their next moves. They have a mystery to unravel, but the Soviet police are closing in.

 

After retrieving his codebook and equipment, Alec returned to Meklin’s flat to find James much better for having slept the whole day and ready to climb the walls. Roza glared daggers at both of them and ordered them out of her kitchen.

Alec sat on the couch, a careful distance away from James, and distracted him with a discussion of their plan. He would have liked to distract James in a more pleasant manner, but they were in a stranger’s house with no privacy. Of course, they had to keep their relationship secret at home, too, although at least it wasn’t quite illegal, the way it was here.

James leaned toward him and said quietly, “We need to identify whoever is behind this.”

Alec fought the urge to roll his eyes and reminded himself that James was stating the obvious because he was injured and feeling useless just now. “Yes, and I have an idea. If my mission was the unauthorized one rather than yours —”

“It had better be the unauthorized one,” James interrupted. “I don’t like the idea they thought they could order you undercover for months at a time, let alone years.”

Alec smiled softly, warmed by James’ words. “I didn’t like the idea either, especially when I couldn’t reach you before I left.” He glanced into the kitchen, frustrated that he couldn’t touch James, but Roza was too close. Back to business. “I have a way to contact MI6, although it’s less of a contact and more of a courier chain.”

James nodded. “You want to follow the chain back to whoever is pulling the strings.”

“Yes. I have a tracker, I just need to code a report. I survived and am in place, or something.”

James grinned at him, dark blue eyes flickering to Roza and the kitchen before visibly restraining himself, and they began working on what Alec’s report would say.

 

* * *

 

Alec had difficulty convincing James to stay behind again the next day while he followed the letter through the Soviet mail system, but it had to be done. James was in no shape to take on the stress of tracking anything quite yet.

He’d wanted to convince James to go back to England, but he knew that would never happen. At least MI6 wouldn’t be expecting either of them back right away. Each of them had a history of disappearing after missions, either to lick their wounds or to celebrate being alive. No one would question James returning to MI6 later than scheduled, especially if he brought news that Alec had been killed in action. 

Alec placed the tracker into an envelope with a letter filled with what looked to be boring business statistics, but would show a different message to anyone who had the key to the code. They had decided to keep the message simple, and only reported that he had survived the explosion and was in place, ready to send information back. Then Alec activated the communication chain by posting the letter to a certain address — one which he’d discovered did not actually exist. The monitor for his tracker had only a short range, so he had to keep close to the letter to track it. Although they suspected that the letter would wind up in the Soviet version of the dead letter office, they couldn’t be sure that would be its destination. 

He followed as the letter was picked up and taken to the local post office, and lurked outside the post office for hours until the letter began to move again — in a truck bound for Leningrad. Alec hurried to a phone to call James at the Macklin’s, to say he was leaving the city, then he hotwired a car. He wasn’t too worried about staying within the tracker’s range. He knew where the truck was going. All he needed to do was get to the Leningrad Post Office. 

When he got to the post office in Leningrad, he verified the letter was there. To his relief, it was. Once more, he settled in to wait for the letter to move again. When it did, he discovered it was in the possession of an ordinary looking letter carrier, walking down the street towards a residential area.

Alec hung back a bit, although he kept the man in sight. The man appeared to be working a normal mail delivery route. At each stop, Alec checked to make sure the tracker was still on the move. How had the letter carrier come to be in possession of the letter? Had the man taken it from the dead letter office, or had someone given it to him? He debated kidnapping the man to get the information, but decided instead to let things play out. This neighborhood was familiar, and he wondered at the coincidence, especially since the letter carrier still had the envelope — or at least the tracker. 

Alec grinned as the letter carrier went to one of the last houses on the route, mail bag all but empty. He was right. 

The letter carrier climbed the steps and knocked. Shortly after that, the door opened and a woman looked out. The man simply handed her a package. 

Alec checked his monitor. It showed the tracker bright and clear. The letter was obviously in a new container. The man nodded to the woman and left, all without saying a word. The woman took the package inside and closed the door.

Alec dismissed the letter carrier as unimportant. He wanted that package. He went up the steps, and just like the man before him, he knocked.

The same woman opened the door and stared in astonishment. “Ilyusha! Oh my goodness, come in, darling!”

“Yevdokiya Gurievna,” Alec grinned at her, stepping into the house. The wide foyer opened to a high ceiling, with a large sitting room taking up the area to the right. On the left, a young woman stood uncertainly by the stairs running gracefully up to the second floor. Alec ignored her for the moment and concentrated on Yevdokiya. “My dear Dushanka. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen you. How have you been?”

Yevdokiya looked up at the ceiling, shaking her head in mock despair. “How have I been, he asks. How do you think, after you cruelly abandoned me?” 

“Ah, Dushanka,” he clasped a hand to his breast. “You wound me! Would I be so cruel?”

“Yes, you monster.” She couldn’t keep up the act, though, and a bright smile broke over her face. She hugged him. “I’ve missed you, Ilyusha.”

He held her tight for a moment, breathing in the scent of roses that surrounded her, and then eased back and tilted her face up to give her a thorough kiss before releasing her. “I missed you too, darling, but I had business to attend to.” He shrugged, indicating his helplessness before fate. 

“Business that was so important that you left me here, bereft, with only my husband for company.” She heaved a theatrical sigh and pouted.

Alec almost broke character to give her a round of applause. “Needs must, my dear.”

“Yes, I suppose,” Yevdokiya allowed grudgingly. She turned to the young woman by the stairs. “Go on now, back to your work.” Not waiting for an acknowledgement, Yevdokiya took Alec’s hand and led him towards an alcove in the corner. “Now tell me, why are you here, Ilyusha?”

Alec waited until the young woman was gone. “A man just brought a package to you. What was it? What will you do with it?”

“Why Ilyusha,” a glint entered Yevdokiya’s eyes. “Are you jealous?”

“Always, my dear.” Alec caught her eyes as he lifted her hand to his lips for a gentle kiss. “But I need to know about that package.”

Yevdokiya sighed, her expression turning fond. “You’re such a romantic, Ilyusha. It’s a little side project, nothing more.” She waved the hand that wasn’t still in his grasp, indicating just how trivial she found the subject. “Just to keep me busy while all the men I love are away, leaving me here to waste away, all alone.”

“Does it keep you terribly busy, my dear?” Alec squeezed her hand before letting it go. “What do you do with this side project?”

“I give it to my maid, who takes it to a hotel near the British Consulate.” She leaned closer to him, teasing. “She gives it to one of the Englishmen she sees.”

Alec felt a surge of triumph. He was willing to bet that from there, the package would go into a diplomatic pouch. They could pick up the package’s trail in England, as long as they got close enough to the tracker’s signal. He picked Yevdokiya up, swinging her around. “Dushanka, when are you going to let me kill your worthless husband so you can run away with me?”

She laughed. “He might be worthless, Ilyusha, but at least he’s around most of the time. Put me down, dear, unless you’re taking me to bed.”

He set Yevdokiya back on her feet, making a show of reluctance. “Unfortunately I can’t today, my dear. I’ve things that I need to do.” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. Now he needed to convince her to tell him the name of the man the maid was meeting. He might know something about the courier chain, or the box’s destination.

“Alec.” The flattened sound of the American vowels startled him as much as the abruptly sober expression on her face. She bit her lip, scanning the room quickly before turning back to him. “Be careful, won’t you?”

“Katie, what’s wrong?” He had to know more, and she wouldn’t have broken cover and spoken in English unless she was certain they wouldn’t be overheard.

She looked away before answering, “I’ve heard things.”

He tamped down his frustration. There was a rhythm to these exchanges, and Katie was the one with the information. He raised a brow and waited.

She looked back and sighed. “There are rumours. About your M.”

“Katherine...”

She shrugged a shoulder. “They say he’s lost the plot, and no longer has control over MI6. That he’s someone’s puppet.”

“Do they say who is the puppet master?”

She gave him an arch look. “Of course they don’t.”

Of course not. He sighed. “How did you get mixed up in this courier chain?”

“How do you think? Professional courtesy. It was a request from on high.”

He was all too familiar with requests from headquarters that were short on details and long on orders to keep silent. “Do you know where the request came from?”

She raised an admonishing brow. “You know it doesn’t work that way. I can’t tell you. I will say that I didn’t know you were part of it.”

Alec growled, frustrated. He recognized that look. Katie might sympathize, but she had said all she willing to say. 

 

* * *

 

“How’s Leningrad?” James did his best to sound as though he wasn’t as bored as he actually was. His concussion was better, and trapped in a flat with a Soviet woman who refused to be charmed by him was _not_ his idea of a pleasant vacation.

“Productive.” Alec’s voice sounded almost clear over the poor phone connection. “I know the next step in the chain.”

 _That_ perked him up a bit. It meant they were one step closer to being able to go home and hunt down the traitor. “And?”

“I saw Yevdokiya —”

He caught his breath at the sudden stab of jealousy. _Shit._ He stomped the emotion down as he listened as Alec explained the encounter. He had no business being jealous of anyone.

The flat door swung open, and Roza Borisovna hurried in, eyes wild, as she closed and locked it behind her. Then she turned around, as if searching for something. Her eyes locked on his, and she snapped, “You! There are police. You must go away. Now.”

 _Shit._ “Alec, did you hear?” He kept half an ear on the phone, and the rest of his attention scanning the flat for possible escape routes. 

Roza approached him, grabbing his arm and attempting to pull him up, and insisting in her poor English, “Now. You must go. Fast!”

“Yes, get out of there. I’ll come back and meet you —”

 _No!_ “There’s no time for that, you need to follow the letter.” Now he could hear the disturbance outside the flat, and Roza redoubled her efforts at attempting to pull him to his feet.

“You’re more important. I’ll meet you this evening at the park down the street. There’s a shelter near there, remember? For the Orthodox when they hold Mass in secret.”

 _“Fuck._ All right. Tonight — don’t be late.” He hung up the phone and finally allowed Roza to hurry him out the window onto the ledge. There was a fire escape three windows over. He looked down, and sighed. It was a damn good thing he had a head for heights.

  



	5. Investigations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec rescues James and then continues tracking the package, hoping he hasn't missed his chance.

Alec cursed the necessity to abandon the trail, but there was no question he’d do whatever he had to if it would keep James safe. He waited in the evening chill until he spotted his partner, almost invisible among the line of trees at the edge of the park, moving towards him. He tensed, prepared for a trap, but there didn’t seem to be anyone else watching. To his relief, James was moving normally, no sign of any new injuries.

James was, however, annoyed. “You shouldn’t have come back for me.”

“What a lovely way to greet me. You’re welcome.”

“What if I was bait for a trap?”

“As if you’d let that happen.” Alec rolled his eyes. “You would have found a way to signal me. Let’s go.”

He ignored James’ complaint that he could have gotten to Leningrad himself. Alec snorted to himself. Not with that concussion still playing havoc with James’ vision. 

Alec hotwired another car for the drive back to Leningrad. No point taking chances if the other one was reported stolen. 

They spent most of the drive discussing possible ways to get out of Russia and Back to England. Leningrad was a few hours away, and Alec wasn’t speeding. He didn’t want to attract too much attention. Eventually, James dozed off as the concussion made him sleepy, and Alec slowed the car just a bit. It might take a bit longer to arrive, but they weren’t in any hurry at the moment. He would need to call Yevdokiya when they arrived.

 

* * *

 

Lift doors opened onto a hotel hallway that stretched into the distance. Alec stepped out and studied the numbers on the wall to see which direction he needed to go. He was a day later than they’d planned, but at least James was safely ensconced in another hotel room several streets away. Yevdokiya’s maid had passed on the package to her British paramore the day before, but she’d been agreeable to plan another assignation. 

He turned to his left, just as the doors to the second lift opened with a soft chime. He started walking down the hallway, ducking his head to hide his face. A pair of voices, a man and a woman, came from behind him. Would they turn right, or follow him to the left? He groaned when the voices became louder. They’d turned to the left.

He paused outside one of the rooms and nodded to the couple, hoping it wasn’t the room they were headed for. Fortunately it wasn’t, and they walked past, ignoring him. When they entered their own room, he went to the room he was interested in and knelt in front of the door. He grinned at the Russian version of a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign hanging on the doorknob.

His first impulse had been to simply kick the door in, but common sense said he’d be better off picking the lock. After all, he didn’t want to draw outside attention. There was no telling how many other rooms on this floor were occupied at the moment. Besides, it would take less than a minute to pick the lock. 

Thirty seconds later, he turned the knob and opened the door, the carpet muffling his footsteps. He was going to catch his quarry in the act — grunts and moans of pleasure came from the bed hidden by the design of the room. To his right was a small ensuite bathroom, and there was a closet on his left. He passed them both, heading toward the end of the short hallway, where the room opened to the right.

The noises from the couple on the bed covered his approach. He tilted his head as he watched. They were certainly, ah,  _ energetic.  _

Deciding that he needed to make his presence known more forcefully, he drew his Browning and cleared his throat. 

The two on the bed sprang apart, the women uttering a cut off shriek. He caught her eyes and nodded towards the door. She scrambled out of the bed, covering herself with a sheet, and grabbed a pile of clothing. She didn’t stop to get dressed, she simply fled the room. Smart girl; he’d have to mention that to Yevdokiya next time he saw her.

When the door closed behind the girl, he bared his teeth in one of his most chilling smiles. “So. Now you and I will have little chat.” He spoke English, but adopted a thick Russian accent. 

The man on the bed, a younger attache at the British Consulate across the street, paled, swallowing convulsively. “Wh— What do you want?” 

“You have possession of an item that interests me. A letter. Addressed to Hugh Thompson, in London. You will tell me where it is. Willingly or unwillingly.” He noted dispassionately that the young man wet himself. Really, he wasn’t trying  _ that  _ hard to scare the man. He just wanted the next stop in the letter’s journey, because Hugh Thompson didn’t exist, and his tracking device had unexpectedly died.

The young man licked his lips, his eyes darting around the room as if seeking some way out. “I can’t tell you!”

Alec heaved a disappointed sigh. “Well then. We will have to do this the fun way.”

“Fu— fun?” The young man’s voice broke. His eyes widened and he scrambled backward to bump into the headboard as Alec approached the bed and leaned over him.

“Fun, yes. For me. Pain for you. Unless you have something to tell me?” He smiled coldly as he raised a fist.

“The letter, right? It came in a package. I opened it, re-enciphered it, and destroyed the original. Then I sent the copy on. It left this morning it’s in a diplomatic pouch! I don’t know who Thompson is, he’ll get it,  _ please don’t hurt me!” _ the young man blurted, raising his arms in front of his face as he flinched.

“The address?” Alec prompted, snorting under his breath as the man stammered the address from behind his arms. He regarded the quivering lump. He’d have to report how easy it was to get the man to break when he got back to MI6. 

“Now, look at me, hmm?” He waited until the young man peeked out from behind his arms. “You are thinking you will report this, yes? To your security? To _ MI6?” _

The young man paled at the venom Alec injected into his voice at that last, and he had to struggle not to burst out laughing. When he had himself under control, he said, “If you do, they will find out about the girl. Who has been giving you things to send in your  _ diplomatic pouches. _ And they will arrest  _ you  _ as spy.”

Horror filled the young man’s face. “But I’m not! Wh — what do I do?” 

“You stay here, for the rest of the afternoon. And you say nothing. And the young lady might ask you again to send something diplomatically. And you will do it.” After all, at the moment he had no real need to destroy Yevdokiya’s network.

He left the room, closing the door behind him. It would probably take the young man at least half an hour to gather the courage to get dressed and leave. By then, Alec would be long gone. All he needed was to pick up James from the other hotel, and then they’d be on their way back to London. Separately, of course, but they needed to keep up the fiction that he was dead.

 

* * *

 

James lay on the thin mattress of the bed in the room they had rented. It was less a hotel than a residential rooming house. The landlady had eyed them suspiciously until they had offered a sufficient bribe, then she'd given them a key and sent them on their way.

Since Alec was away tracking down the package, he was attempting to work through their list of suspects and motives. He still had the concussion, with its attendant headache fading in and out, but at least it had subsided enough to think. Alec had been right to make him rest, although he still resented the coddling.

He hoped to make some progress before Alec returned, but so far he hadn't managed to make any headway. The problem was that Double O's and MI6 personnel rarely mixed well, which tended to cause false positives in a situation like this. They might need to get an outside assessment. Tanner, perhaps. Or possibly Miss Moneypenny. She could give them a different perspective. 

What reason could the traitor have for attempting to send Alec undercover? Why have them both of them risk their lives when they destroyed the factory? Which was the their opponent's true goal, information or their deaths? 

He swore under his breath.  _ Someone  _ had to know what was going on, they just might not know that they knew, and he needed to figure out who that someone might be. He’d need a reason to nose around at MI6. Suddenly talking to staff Double O’s usually ignored would raise red flags. Maybe he could talk to some of the executives? That might be believable, but they were mostly a boring lot. A few of them had come up from the agent ranks and still had close ties there, which meant he could talk with one of them believably. Moore might be a good one to contact. 

Footsteps in the corridor outside the room put him on alert. He tensed, hand hovering over his Walther.  _ Would the footsteps pass on, to one of the rooms farther along?  _ He waited, straining his ears — and the footsteps stopped in front of his door. He snatched up the Walther, ready to aim.

A measured pattern of knocks allowed him to relax as a key turned in the lock.

Alec entered, his eyes falling on the drawn Walther. He looked up at James, approval lighting his eyes. “Is that a gun in your hand or are you just happy to see me?”

“Both,” James grinned. He slid the pistol back into its holster. “What did you find out?”

The smile slipped from Alec’s face, replaced by a scowl. “It was too late. He’d already sent the package on. Diplomatic pouch.”

“Shit.” Guilt stabbed him. If Alec hadn’t had to come fetch him... No, there was no good in that line of thinking. He needed to look forward. “So we go back to England and pick up the tracker’s signal.”

But Alec shook his head. “He re-encoded the message before he sent it on. Completely new paper and envelope. No tracker. I know who it’s addressed to, but there’s no telling which letter will be the one we’re after.”

“Damn. So we’re back to going to MI6 and nosing around.”

“Yes. Budge up.” Alec shoved a hip at him, then climbed into the bed to sit beside him, shoulder to shoulder.

“I haven’t made any headway on figuring out who it could be,” he admitted, shifting over to give Alec space. “Once I started looking for anyone acting suspiciously, it could be anyone.”

“Or someone careful to  _ not _ act suspicious.”

“Exactly. So, motives... Someone that hates us?”

“Who could who hate  _ us?”  _ Alec scoffed, slanting a glance at him. 

James smirked. “Could be anyone. But... I doubt there is anyone who hates us enough to try to kill us this way.”

“Of course. It would be something more direct than attempting to sabotage a mission.”

“Exactly. Sniper, tripwire, explosive, poison...”

“Well, we’ve had the explosion. Could be someone’s trying to get rid of a Double O or two. Maybe to take our place?”

“That’s... hmmm…” James considered the idea. Unlikely, but still —  “Possible? We can look at the pool of field agents up for Double O status.”

“Any other motives?”

They sat in silence, thinking. Then Alec said, “Yevdokiya told me that there are rumours about M.”

“The puppet master? Could be. But why involve us?”

Alec shrugged, as if the answer were obvious. “Because we’d be the ones to track him down and stop him.”

“True.” He didn’t mention that technically, as agents of MI6, they were forbidden to operate on home soil. But what MI5 didn’t know wouldn’t get them arrested, after all. Then, knowing that Alec would understand his meaning, he said, “Tanner.”

“He’d be good to talk to. How about Moneypenny?”

“Maybe,” James allowed, even though he’d considered her himself earlier. “Not Q.”

Alec nodded slowly. “I agree, but he’s still a good resource. Talk to him, sound him out on a few people, but don’t tell him why.”

James considered that. Alec did have a point. The old man had been around MI6 for decades. “All right. The other Double O’s?”

“Depends who is in, I suppose. Not 002. Or 009.” Alec’s voice dripped with distaste when he said 009’s number. Neither of them got along with the man. “001 would be good. 003 has been on a long term undercover assignment. 008 maybe. 005 is still too new. What do you think of 004?”

“004 would be good if she’s back from her mission.”

Alec nodded again. “So. When we get back, I start following people, you talk to Tanner and the Double O’s.”

“It’s as good a plan as any, I suppose.” He lay there, just breathing in Alec’s scent. It had been too long since they’d been together. After they split up to travel, they wouldn’t see each other for a while, and the first thing he’d have to do after he got home was report to M. He’d better enjoy this time… He rolled onto his side, pulling Alec with him, “We have a little time to kill before we need to get to our transportation.”

Alec grinned slyly at him. “Why Agent Bond, whatever did you have in mind?”

 


	6. Unexpected Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not even James Bond and Alec Trevelyan can do everything by themselves. Sometimes they need a little help. This time, there's another Double O that stumbles into the strange happenings in MI6 and begins their own investigation.

Lydia Moore sat at the conference table, going through one of the files in front of her as she waited for the meeting to begin. She kept half of her attention on the conversations her colleagues were having all around her. The other Section heads were gossiping and bickering, and as usual she stayed well out of it. Rumours flew faster through the Secret Intelligence Service than through any civilian business. 

“Ms Moore?” It was her Personal Assistant, Hurst. He slid another file onto her stack.  _ Wonderful.  _ She put the file she held aside and picked up the new one as Hurst stepped back, waiting quietly behind her chair in case she needed anything. Except tea, of course. It really wasn’t the done thing anymore to send your PA to get refreshments. A good change from when she was younger. Then, she’d been the one sent to bring in tea and biscuits, no matter that she often ranked equal to anyone else present. It was down to her by virtue of her sex.

Around the room, other PAs were handing folders to their chiefs or otherwise remaining either useful or invisible. She opened the file. It was an update on one of the current missions taking place in her region of responsibility. Buenos Aires, she noted with a pang of wistful envy. She missed working in the field. She had no real desire to go back, however. She’d fought tooth and nail for every promotion that had led to her current position as head of the South American Section of MI6.

“Did you hear,” whispered the head of the European Section to the head of the North American Section, “He’s losing part of his portfolio due to all the independence movements lately.”

Lydia tuned out the rest of that conversation with a light snort. As far as she was concerned, Charles Laury deserved to do more than lose half his portfolio. She glanced up. The man in question sat opposite her, shuffling his files and ignoring the whispers.

To her left, the heads of the Middle East Section and Southwest Asia Section complained to each other about M ignoring their warnings of unrest in their respective Sections. They had a point. M had a blind spot when it came to anything that wasn’t connected to the Russians, and that led to things like missing the significance of the Sudanese Civil War starting up again, or of the unrest in the Middle East.

The conversations tapered off as Miss Moneypenny entered and sat at the steno desk to the left of the conference table. She took out her notepad and pen, prepared to take notes. She would write down everything said during the meeting. Hers would be the only official record — they didn’t allow recording devices in their meetings.

Complete silence fell as M strode in to take the chair at the head of the table. Tanner followed on his heels and sat to his right. M looked around, nodding a greeting to several of the Section heads that were part of his unofficial inner circle. Lydia was  _ not  _ included in that number. Laury, she noted, was. Old school ties, of course.

“Good morning,” M began, a note of satisfaction in his voice. “Before we get started with today’s agenda, I have good news. Bond finally reported in — the Archangel mission was a complete success. Total destruction of the facility!”

M beamed at the murmurs of approval from the section heads, but Tanner frowned and leaned forward to whisper into his ear. Irritation crossed M’s face as he listened. He huffed in annoyance when Tanner sat back. “Tanner reminds me that we did have a casualty. 006.”

The murmurs turned into expressions of shock and sympathy, although Lydia doubted just how sympathetic some of her fellow sections heads actually were.

“As you know,” M continued, ignoring the dismay that flashed across Tanner’s face, “this means there is now an opening in the programme. Get your nominations written up if you have any agents ready for promotion to Double O status. Submit the packages to Miss Moneypenny, and I will review them next week. Now, first we have —” 

Lydia kept her opinion to herself as M spoke about the recent changeover of the Communist Party’s General Secretary. It was important, yes, since this was the third man to take the office in two years. However, dismissing the death of an agent as nothing more than an inconvenience that led to an open spot needing to be filled was certainly not the mark of a good leader. It appeared, however, that certain of her colleagues didn’t agree with her private musing. Laury and the heads of the European and Middle Eastern Sections appeared less than solemn and rather more eager for the possibility of a new Double O under their purview. She settled back in her chair. She had a feeling it would be a long meeting.

 

* * *

 

“ — And your lockpick brooch.” Janet Walsh, the inventory clerk, looked at her expectantly.

Lily Hart, 004, stifled a sigh. She liked the brooch and it had been damned useful this last mission. “Can’t I keep it?”

“Now, 004, you know —”

A voice, rising in anger, interrupted Walsh, and both she and Lily turned.

007 was arguing with the Quartermaster. Something about... Lily wrinkled her brow as she tried to make out what 007’s problem was, then hastily relaxed the muscles. It wouldn’t do to get wrinkles too soon in this game. She caught a few more words. Something about timers. Had something had gone wrong on his last mission? She scanned the room but didn’t see Trevelyan. From what Bond had said at the airport, she’d thought the two had been assigned together this time. Perhaps she’d been mistaken.

“004?” Walsh prompted, trying to get her attention.

“Yes, sorry.” She widened her eyes at the clerk. “I’d really like to keep the brooch.”

“Well...” Walsh’s brown eyes flicked around the room, lighting here and there on others. Then, seemingly satisfied, she pulled a twisted bit of metal from her drawer and handed it to Lily. “I shouldn’t be doing this, but I know the men do it, so here.”

She stared at it, and looked up at Walsh, a question on her face.

“Next time you get issued the brooch, turn  _ that _ in.”

The two women shared a conspiratorial grin.

Bond walked past, face thunderous, deep in conversation with the Quartermaster. “— other incidents lately. You have to admit the lack of planning —”

Lily turned, wanting to ask what Bond meant, but Walsh distracted her with a question about the hair sticks securing her updo. She’d have to get with Bond later. Now she needed to save her toys. “Are you sure you need them back? They’ve got stilettos hidden inside them.”

Walsh gave her a disappointed frown. “I can always ask for that bit of metal back, you know.”

One of the things a Double O needed was a sense of when to pick their battles. Stilettos or lock picks...

 

* * *

 

 Lily left Q-Branch and made a stop in the loo to fix her hair. She hadn’t been able to keep the hair sticks, but at least Walsh had given her an elastic to get her hair into some semblance of order. It took longer than she’d like, but eventually she was on her way, hair neatly plaited, and headed for the bank of lifts. Next on her agenda was getting her after action report written, then she could — 

One of the lifts ahead opened and an emergency response team spilled out, pulling a gurney. “Make a hole!”

Lily flattened her back against the wall. Did she need to respond to an incident? “What happened?”

“Injury in Q-Branch,” the medic flung back as the team raced away.

She didn’t bother saying thanks. Sounded like they didn’t need a Double O’s particular skillset. Besides, Bond had still been there, hadn’t he? 

She shook her head. Hopefully the injury wasn’t serious, although knowing the Quartermaster, it could be anything from a papercut to lost limbs. She hadn’t heard anything alarming while she’d been in the branch, but accidents could happen quickly. 

The lift dinged opened again and she entered. She hesitated a moment, then hit the button for the 8th floor — not the floor where the Double O’s maintained offices.

The spectre of an unexpected injury reminded her that there was someone she needed to see first.

 

* * *

 

“Hello, Lydia,” a woman’s sultry purr greeted as she entered her office, with a voice that was low and full of promise.

Lydia sighed. While Hurst had warned she had a visitor, he hadn’t mentioned  _ who.  _ “Feet off the desk, 004,” she said sternly, ignoring the exaggerated surprise and pout the younger woman shot at her.

“Why, Lydia, is that any way to treat a visitor bearing gifts?” 004 asked in a mock injured voice.

She raised a brow. “‘Gifts’ is it now, Lily? What have you done this time?”

Lily gasped theatrically, clapping one hand to her chest. “I’m completely innocent!” Then she stood, and with a grin and a flourish she produced a simple cardboard box, tied with a string. “For you, my lovely. One of your favorite things.”

“‘Innocent’ my arse, Lils. I wiped yours when you were a baby, remember.” But Lydia couldn't remain firm in the face of Lily’s hopeful expression, and she sighed. “Oh, all right, give it here.” She took the box Lily handed her and untied the string, then opened the box, gasping in delight at the small object she revealed. A clear plastic envelope nestled into the cotton lining, containing — “A Brazilian Zeppelin stamp? I’ve been needing one in my collection for ages.”

“I know you have,” Lily grinned. _ “And _ it’s in mint condition, or nearly. I was so excited when I found it. While knocking around in Amsterdam, of all places. ”

“It’s perfect, thank you.” Lydia waved at Lily to sit down, then put the box on her desk with a possessive pat. “Tea? Something stronger?”

“Thanks, but no. I just got in from Bruges, and I need to write my report. I wanted to see you first, and give you that,” Lily nodded at the box, then hesitated, giving her head a shake with a rueful laugh. “There’s me, being all responsible. What will that do for the Double O’s reputation?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell everyone you have a typical disregard for all paperwork. I've just got back from a deadly dull staff meeting, and I need a nip of something.” She went to the side table where she kept her liquor and poured a generous amount of amber liquid into two tumblers. Lily raised a brow but said nothing when Lydia handed the second one to her.

“I don’t think you’ve heard. We lost 006 on his last mission.” Lydia raised the tumbler in a toast. “He was a good agent.”

“To 006.” Lily‘s expression sobered as she raised hers and took a healthy swig. Then she leaned forward with a sigh and placed the tumbler on the desk. “You’re right, my report can wait. What did the ghouls have to say?”

She snorted. “Exactly what you’d expect. Most are more interested in naming an agent from their section as a replacement.”

“I don’t know why they’d care. Doesn’t do them much good, does it?” Lily contorted in the chair, ending with her legs hanging over one of the arms, just as she’d done when she was a child.

“Influence,” Lydia said, ignoring the sudden resurgence of maternal instinct that wanted her to tell her child to get out of this business. “The Old Boys Network runs on influence and favors.”

Lily nodded, her face resigned and wise beyond her years. “And sex.”

“And sex,” Lydia agreed. “I’m your mother, Lils. I don’t want to know about your sex life.”

“Fair enough, I’m not keen to know about yours!” Lily grinned like the imp she’d been when she was ten. 

She laughed, imagining her daughter’s face if she went into details. Some of the things she’d gotten up to in her own youth… “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you!”

“Anything else happen in the meeting?” Lily stretched her arm to grab the tumbler off the desk to take a quick swig. 

She shook her head. “Usual stuff, really. Laury was an utter arse as usual and M was only interested in hearing Stewart’s report on current Soviet events.”

Lily turned the tumbler in her hand, watching as the light caught and splintered on the cut glass design. “You don’t like him.”

“Which one? I don’t mind Stewart, but Laury? No. There’s something unsavoury about him.” She hesitated, not sure if she should bring up her concern. There was probably nothing to it, but… Lily was a Double O for a reason, and it would be good to have a second opinion on her suspicions. “You remember old Pollard? He and Laury weren’t exactly friends, but I’d seen them talking at odd times. And Laury was one of the last people to see Pollard the day he died.”

Lily sat up straight, her eyes widening in surprise. “You think he had something to do with Pollard’s death? Why didn’t you say —”

Lydia shook her head. “Not really  _ suspect,  _ exactly. And I have no proof, of course. But if you should hear anything…”

“I understand.” Lily sat back, watching her pensively. “I can poke around, see what I can find out.”

She bit her lip, studying the young woman in front of her. Lily had grown into a lovely young woman and an agent as capable as she herself had been in her youth. “Thank you. But be careful. I don’t know why Pollard’s death wasn’t ruled suspicious.”

“Don’t worry so much. I’ll be fine.” Lily gulped the rest of her drink and shot to her feet. She bounced over to Lydia with a grin and kissed her cheek. “Bye, Mum. Don’t start any new wars in Latin America!”

With that, Lily was out the door, leaving her holding an empty glass with a fondly exasperated smile.

 


	7. Taking Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hart brings some interesting information to James and Alec, and the three make plans to acquire the traitor and bring him in. The only problem is, even the best of plans don't always work perfectly.

 

James had chosen this flat because of its views of London. He liked being able to look out at the city, and know, without a doubt, that he was _home._ Other then that, he liked the open concept, with the living areas — kitchen, dining room, living room, and den — all blending into each other. It gave him a feeling of space. The furniture was an odd mix of heavier, antique styles and more modern styles with accents of glass and metal. It depended on whichever one of them went shopping for an item that had been destroyed for one reason or another. Which was usually Alec, after ‘accidentally’ breaking — setting fire to, last time — something belonging to James.

However, he wasn’t really thinking about the flat or its furniture right now. Alec had finally returned from Russia a few hours earlier, and they were discussing who they might talk to next. Or at least, _he_ was trying to discuss who to talk to next. Alec, lounging on one side of the couch, would occasionally stretch, baring a few inches of skin between his t-shirt and jeans, which would completely derail James’ train of thought. From his smirk, Alec was doing it deliberately, the bastard.

Not that James could completely blame him. They’d gone over everything once already, and hadn’t actually gotten anywhere. Maybe another round or two in bed would be just what they needed to shake loose a few new ideas.

A knock at the door interrupted their conversation.

James stilled, looking at Alec. They weren’t expecting visitors. Alec shook his head, equally baffled, and James motioned for him to head into the bedroom. Then he got up and went to the door, holding his Walther loosely aimed at the floor while he checked the peephole — the real one hidden in the moulding of the door jamb, not the fake placed where most flat doors kept their peepholes. In the hallway, only slightly distorted by the Q-branch designed fisheye lens, 004 stood waiting, looking impatient. Why? She had no reason to be at their flat. 

004 knocked again. “I know you’re in there, Bond. Open up.”

 _Damn._ They _had_ been talking about who to trust, but Hart turning up at that exact moment was entirely too convenient. He turned to make sure the living area was clear, and groaned. Alec, damn him, hadn’t gone anywhere. 

Standing beside the couch, Browning in hand as if to back him up, Alec mouthed, “Who is it?”

“Hart,” James mouthed back.

Alec’s eyes widened in surprise, then he shrugged and indicated for James to open the door.

 _Shit._ Hoping Alec knew what he was doing, James let Hart in. She entered the flat, already talking.

“About time you let me in, Bond. I need to — Trevelyan?!” She broke off, staring at Alec who grinned back at her, his pistol already in its customary hiding spot. “Well. I’m glad to see the rumours of your death were greatly exaggerated.” 

Alec’s grin turned into a sly smirk that caused James’ blood to pool southward. “I’m very difficult to kill.”

Hart scoffed. “Apparently. I’ve heard all about yours and Bond’s hobby of resurrection. You set a bad example for the rest of us.”

“You need to —” 

“Never mind that,” James said, cutting Alec off. He wanted to know what Hart wanted and then get her out of there. “Why are you here?”

She looked from Alec to James, her dark eyes turning serious. “We need to talk.”

“Fine.” Resigned to Hart’s presence for a little while longer, he gestured toward the sitting area, allowing her to precede him.

Alec retook his seat on the couch, leaning back with his long legs stretched out on the coffee table. Hart paused, as if considering the other end of the couch or the recliner opposite, obviously unsure which one James might prefer.

Knowing what message he would send if he sat next to Alec, James chose the recliner instead, allowing Hart to sit on the other end of the couch. Oddly, she rolled her eyes at him as she sat. He didn’t have time to wonder about that, as she launched into what she’d come to tell them.

“I overheard some of what you were talking to the Quartermaster about today,” she began. “I didn’t hear it all, but I heard enough that I thought you might have some ideas about what’s been going on.”

Alec regarded her as if she were a puzzle he was attempting to solve. “What do you mean?”

She raised a blonde brow. “Surely you’ve noticed. There’s been talk of missions that seemed… off. You’ve both been in the military. Most of us have. I’d assumed it was the same kind of governmental incompetence that screws up military operations. I don’t know what went wrong on your last mission for Trevelyan to fake his death, but you two obviously suspect something more.”

James traded a glance with Alec. Hart was a damn good agent, almost as good as they were. She had a keen analytical mind that allowed her to make connections others might miss. It was why they’d considered bringing her in on this. Alec lowered his chin in a subtle nod of agreement, so James began to speak. “We discovered that we’d been given conflicting orders for the mission…”

Hart sat attentively, focused on him, as he swiftly outlined what had happened on their mission. Then Alec took over, detailing what he’d learned from his contact in Russia.

After they were done, they sat in silence for a moment, until Hart swore. “I was really hoping for incompetence. But all those incidents taken together with talk of a puppet master? We have a mole somewhere, gentlemen, and I might know who it could be.”

James leaned forward and growled, “Who?”

“I spoke with Lydia today, and she had some interesting things to say about the South African section head.”

“Laury, right?” Alec asked. “Average height, slightly overweight, forename Charles?”

Hart nodded, “Yes, he —” 

But James was already ahead of them, beginning to put the pieces together. “I wasn’t able to get much from Q this morning, but before he was interrupted by one of his techs getting injured, he was saying something about one of the section heads. Maybe it was Laury. What exactly did your mother have to say?” It was no secret that Lydia Moore was Hart’s mother, or that Moore had been a damn good agent herself in her youth. If she had suspicions, there would be a solid basis for them.

“As I was beginning to say,” Hart said, shooting him an annoyed glare, “Lydia thinks there’s something off about him. And he was the last to see Pollard alive. Suspicious. But nothing’s been done to follow up.”

“M’s friend, isn’t he?” Alec asked, his eyes focused on something far away, as if he was trying to remember something.

“I think so,” Hart agreed. “But would that be a mark in favour of him being the puppetmaster or against?”

“He could be behind it, or he could be another puppet,” James said, looking from Alec to Hart.

“What motivation would he have?” Hart shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s definitely worth following up, but even though he’s an annoying man, it doesn’t necessarily make him a traitor.”

“True,” Alec said, “But that doesn’t make him not guilty, either.”

“I’m wondering about the lab incident at Q-Branch. The timing was damn coincidental. Just as Q was about to tell me the name of one the section heads.” James growled in remembered frustration. “I don’t know if the ‘accident’ was deliberate, but the timing is certainly suspicious.”

“There’s that old saying,” Alec said, tilting his head in a way that alerted James to pending mischief. “Always attribute to malice that which could be explained by stupidity.”

“Hanlon’s Razor.” Hart shook her head. “You’ve gotten it wrong, though. It’s never attribute to malice that which –”

“I know,” Alec said, smirking at her. “I meant what I said.”

James had to agree, at least in this case. “He’s got a point.”

Hart opened her mouth to object again, but then stopped and reconsidered, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled. “All right, yes. In our line of work, you may be right!”

It was time to bring the conversation back to the matter at hand. “Regardless of whether the accident _was_ an accident, Q pointing a finger at a Section Head meshes with what Lydia noticed about Laury. The question now becomes, what do we do about it?”

Alec’s smile turned predator sharp. “Bring him in.” The _of course_ went unsaid. 

“I hate to bring common sense into it, and I know I’m the one that brought the information, but what if it’s not Laury?” 

James smiled, equally as predatory as Alec. “We can make sure. A little questioning, some light torture…” 

“I don’t have a better idea,” Hart said, tacitly agreeing.

“I’ll get him, bring him to MI6,” James said, knowing if he didn’t speak first, Alec would want to be the one to go. Maybe with Hart there, the argument wouldn’t turn physical. 

To his surprise, there was no argument. Alec simply looked at him and stated, “If Laury is guilty, he’ll show it when he sees me.”

“Then we’ll both go.”

Alec scoffed. “You think it takes two Double O’s to bring in a _paper pusher?”_

“Accidents happen.”

“To other people, yes.”

“You two,” Hart shook her head with a huffed laugh. “Fine. Both of you go get Laury. I’ll go see Lydia and let her know. We’ll want a department head with us on this, especially if we don’t know which way M will jump. Then I’ll go to MI6, and make sure there’s a cell waiting.”

James fought the urge to cross his arms. That would be petty. “Fine.”

“I’m sure we’ll come up with something suitably terrifying,” Alec said, apparently deciding to make the best of it. “Who knows, it might be fun.”

  

* * *

 

Alec slipped through several rear gardens, the crescent moon dimly lighting his way, until he reached his destination. He made his way to the house’s back door and waited, straining to hear movement within. Nothing. He checked for an alarm system, but didn’t find one. _Good._ He knelt and quietly picked the lock.

Upon entering, he found himself in a dark kitchen. All he could hear was the faint drone of a reporter, speaking in dire tones about something that was completely inconsequential. The hallway leading towards the front of the house was dark, too. His quarry was probably in the living room, watching the nightly news. 

He made sure to lock the back door behind himself. He and James had run through several scenarios on the way here, and had decided they would go with one of the dramatic ones. James would be letting himself in upstairs, through the open bedroom window they’d seen when they arrived. _That_ had been a complete surprise, albeit a convenient one. He’d had to bite his tongue to keep himself from reminding James to be wary of any traps or alarms.

Alec flipped the light on and looked around. This being the kitchen, and full of objects that could be used as weapons, he went through, quickly and quietly, and rearranged things, so the potential would be in his favour rather than Laury’s. He came across a pistol, an old Beretta, in one of the drawers. After removing the bullets, he placed it back where he’d found it. James was fond of Berettas. If Alec had the chance, perhaps he would make it a gift when this was over. An apology for their argument earlier.

If they’d timed this right, Laury would be switching off the telly shortly. The light from the kitchen, which had been off, would surely draw Laury in. Then James would creep down the stairs, and they’d catch their prey in a pincer movement.

Sure enough, shortly after the sound in the living room snapped off, footsteps approached the kitchen from the hallway. Alec positioned himself in the shadows beside the refrigerator and prepared to pounce.

Laury entered the kitchen, stopping by the table and looked around, as if wondering what had turned the light on. He suddenly focused on the back door, and crossed the room to check. When he found it still locked, he frowned and turned to look around the room once more. He froze in shock when he spotted Alec.

“Hello, Charles.” Alec stepped out into the room, edging toward the back door to herd Laury towards the hallway. He hand dropped down to his holstered Browning, although he didn’t draw it. He didn’t need it quite yet.

Laury stiffened in shock. “Trevelyan? What are you doing in London? You reported you were in Ru—” Laury cut himself off so fast Alec thought he might have bitten his tongue.

“I reported I was where, Charles?” he asked, letting his voice go silky soft with danger.

“No, that wasn’t what I meant,” Laury straightened, sputtering. “It was Bond. He reported you were dead.”

James eased into the room from the hallway. “That wasn’t what you were going to say, was it, Charles?”

Laury gaped at him, then gained control of himself with a crafty gleam entering his eyes. “Why would I say anything else? You reported Trevelyan dead. You can’t prove I know anything different.”

“Maybe not,” Alec said, baring his teeth in a feral smile. “But you _will_ confess. And you won’t enjoy it if we have to persuade you.”

“You wouldn’t dare! I’m a section head. I can have you killed for threatening me.”

“But Charles, don’t you know? I’m a Double O. I could kill you now, and it would be perfectly legal. I’m just politely asking you to confess. Since you’re a section head, of course.” He narrowed his eyes. “And any Double O you might order to kill us — should you have the opportunity — would laugh in your face.”

Laury licked his lips as his eyes darted around the room, searching for some escape, but he was cut off from the rest of the house. Apparently having a suicidal streak, he ran anyway, trying to push past James, who neatly caught him and turned him around, shoving him into a counter. “Wh— what are you going to do with me?”

“Take you to M.” James held Laury’s wrists. “Did you bring the handcuffs, Alec?”

He did so love his partner. “Right here.”

 

* * *

 

 Alec manhandled their prisoner out of the car and up to the garage entrance to MI6. Hart waited there, a phalanx of guards at her back. James looked them over skeptically. Alec didn’t blame him — he had his own doubts. He quietly asked her, “How sure of them are you?”

“As sure as I can be.” She shrugged. “I chose them at random. But we could have rot all through our house.”

“Right. We’ll have to keep an eye on them. To the cells?” To his surprise, she shook her head, a brief look of displeasure crossing her face.

James cast a worried glance toward Alec before asking Hart, “What’s wrong?” 

“We’re going to M’s office. Lydia was holding out for the cells, but he insisted. So we insisted on the escort.”

“Then let’s go.” Alec shifted his grip on his prisoner’s arms. Hart smirked at him, and led the way to the bank of lifts.

Getting up to the executive level took a bit of negotiation. Four of the guards and Hart went ahead in one lift, while he, James, the prisoner, and the two remaining guards took the the other lift. The doors opened when reached the top floor, revealing the guards who had gone ahead, standing all in a row between the lift and the entryway to the executive suite.

“Get the door,” Hart ordered, nodding toward the door to the office. One of the guards hurried ahead to open it.

“006!” Miss Moneypenny stood next to her desk in the anteroom, one hand covering her mouth in shock as she watched them enter. Her wide eyes stared at him, unblinking, for just a moment before she collected herself and pulled the hand covering her mouth away to gesture toward M’s office. “Go in. He’s waiting for you.”

The outer door of the airlock to M’s inner sanctum stood open. Alec maneuvered their prisoner into the space, James and Hart at his heels. Three of the guards crowded in with them. The door closed, allowing one of the guards to reach forward and open the inner door. He could hear a voice as the door opened.

“Charles Laury is one of my oldest and dearest friends. We were at school together. I will not believe that he —” M cut himself off, scowling furiously as Alec shoved his prisoner into the room. 

He looked around, noting at once Lydia appeared exasperated. _What was going on?_ He guided Laury out of the way, so the others could enter behind him. James brushed against his shoulder in silent support while going past to stand closer to M. Hart smirked at him as she went past to take up a position beside Lydia.

M gaped at him. “Trevelyan? What? But Bond reported you dead!”

He bared his teeth in a shark’s smile. “Rumours of my death —”

“I’m _wearing handcuffs,”_ Laury interrupted, looking at M. Then he scowled at his captors. “Do something about these two. They seem to think I’m some sort of criminal.”

M harrumphed. “Yes, one of you remove those handcuffs. The very idea. It’s impossible to believe Charles is a traitor.”

One of the guards slipped behind Laury and undid the cuffs as Laury continued glaring at Alec and James. “It’s all Bond’s fault.”

“How was it Bond’s fault?” Lydia asked, voice mild. It was an agent’s trick Alec recognized, designed to get someone to lower their defenses and talk.

Laury blinked at her, as if confused, then turned his attention to M. “He was supposed to assist Trevelyan’s going undercover. I saw the opportunity, and we need a good mole in the Soviet ranks. You know how those Russians are. Imagine it! We could have a line straight into Moscow in a few years! Instead Bond nearly cocked it all up. He destroyed the chemical weapons facility and almost killed Trevelyan and Ourumov while he was at it. _There’s_ your real traitor!”  

M frowned, staring baffled at Laury’s dramatically pointing finger, aimed straight at James’ chest, then at Laury’s face. “Charles? Why in the world were you planning a _Soviet_ operation? You’re assigned to the African Section. Is what they’re telling me true?”

Surprise flashed across Laury’s face, followed by dismay, and then anger. “You’ve always been a fool, even when we were boys.” He shoved all his weight against Alec, then pulled out the Beretta he’d managed to hide in his pocket when James had shoved him against the counter.

Chaos broke loose. Alec was dimly aware that James threw himself at M, knocking him to the ground while Hart grabbed Lydia, attempting to pull her out of the line of fire. He focused on Laury, waiting for an opening, knowing he’d taken the bullets out of the Beretta himself. Before he could say anything, one of the other guards shouted a warning and shot.

Something punched Alec in the chest, stealing his breath, and knocking him to the floor with a fire tearing through his lung. Darkness crept around the edges of his vision, and over the roaring in his ears, he could hear James shouting at him to hold on. _Hold on to what?_  

Hands grabbed at him, pressing on his chest and it _hurt_ and he wanted to push them away but his own hands refused to obey him. Then it didn’t matter because everything went dark and cold as the world went away.

 


	8. Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout from the standoff in M's office. Find out who lives, who dies, and where events will take the survivors.

 

James watched in horrified disbelief as Alec crumpled to the floor, red blossoming from his chest. That red filled his vision, coloring everything in sight. He was vaguely aware of a roaring in his ears, muffling the sound of another gunshot followed by distant yelling. He watched as his Walther come up in slow motion, seemingly of its own accord, and then Hart was there, yelling in his ear as he shot the bastard guard that shot Alec.

Laury was down too, James noted dispassionately, with Moore standing over him. M was yelling something to no one in particular. James ignored him. He couldn’t ignore Hart, getting in front of him, trying to get his attention. Movement at the door had them both turning in that direction. Miss Moneypenny peeked in, eyes shocked at the sight before her, and ducked away with a shriek as James reflexively aimed at her. 

“Damn it, Bond, that’s Moneypenny. She’s calling medical up here,” Hart snarled, wrenching at his Walther. James allowed her to pull it away from him. He didn’t care; let her have the Walther. She could stand watch. 

James pulled off his jacket as he dropped to his knees beside the only person that mattered, balling it up to put pressure on the wound, covering the red. Shocked green eyes full of pain met his. “Hold on, Alec!”

 

* * *

 

Two days later, James stood leaning against the wall, watching Alec asleep on the bed, no longer hooked up to sensors and monitoring equipment. Is this how Alec felt after Arkhangelsk? When he’d watched over James, lying unconscious on a sofa with a concussion? This sick feeling felt like it would never go away.

The mess in M’s office had left two injured — Alec and Laury. James had killed the guard who had shot Alec. He didn’t regret it, but now they’d never know if the guard was on Larry’s payroll or simply that poor of a shot. James had gotten away with “Double O on a hair trigger, in the heat of the moment,” and a disciplinary note on record in his personnel file.

Moore had shot Laury, which had had been a surprise. No one had realized that she had been armed. She wasn’t exactly under house arrest, but she was on suspension for carrying an unauthorized weapon in MI6, and strongly cautioned to stay at home. M still didn’t quite believe that his old pal had betrayed them all, and had Laury recovering in another hospital room, just down the corridor. M had a put a guard on Laury — for his protection, of course. 

Until that morning, when she’d suddenly been assigned a mission, Hart had been staying by James’ side in case he decided to go haring off after M or Laury himself. There was no chance of that now, though. Not when Alec was clearly recovering. It would be more fun going after Laury later, with Alec at his side.

The door opened. James turned, ready to attack if it wasn’t one of the nurses or a doctor. It wasn’t — but he recognized the intruder. Tanner gave him a tight smile, then stood aside for M to enter.

“Ah, Bond. I hear Trevelyan is doing better,” M said, sounding almost jovial. “Are you ready to get back into harness? You don’t need to continue babysitting him, and I have a mission that requires a Double O of your expertise.”

James locked down the rage that roared up behind his teeth. How _dare_ M try to separate them after what happened? “You have other Double O’s. Task one of them.”

M’s face fell into the lines of a disappointed parent whose child was being willful. “You are my best agent, 007. I can’t have you wasting time coddling your friend. I need you out in the field.”

James stood straight and spat, “You want me to leave Alec here, where he can’t protect himself, knowing your _old friend_ still has moles all through MI6?”

“Moles? In MI6? Don’t be ridiculous, 007,” M scoffed. “No one has any proof that Charles actually intended to cause harm. There isn’t any. He’s sworn to me that he only wanted to help. He’s seen the same signs as I have that the Soviets are planning something. The problem was that he had never been a field agent. He couldn’t know that what he was proposing was out of line.”

_“Proposing?”_ James snarled, suddenly furious that M was still defending the traitor. “He tried to _shoot up your office!_ The only reason he didn’t was because Alec pulled the bullets out of his pistol. If you’re too blind to see —”

“That will be _enough!”_ M glared at him. “Charles was afraid for his life with you and Trevelyan threatening him, and no wonder, with you kidnapping him and sabotaging his pistol. And Moore shot him! She’ll be lucky to have a career left after that. Now, I’ll have no more of your insubordination. You will report for assignment at once. Tanner will escort you to make sure you make no wrong turns on the way.”

“No. You can’t make me take an assignment I don’t want. We quit.” 

“Bond!” M gaped at him. “You can’t mean that.” 

James ignored the sputtering about Queen and country. He was abruptly sick of both M and MI6. “Fuck you!”

M stopped and eyed him, assessing. “Even if you do intend to quit, you don’t speak for Trevelyan.”

“He does…”

_Alec!_ James whirled towards the bed to see tired green eyes open and watching him. Alec’s eyes rested on him for a moment before firming and moving on to M.

“He’s right. We quit.”

 

* * *

  
James floated lazily in the pool, his face shaded from the mid-morning sun by a wide-brimmed hat. Once M had understood that yes, he and Alec truly quit, he had been allowed to take Alec home to recover. At least the old man hadn’t summarily thrown them out, but had given them time. Probably hoping they’d come to their senses and change their minds. Instead, the past few months had been a whirlwind of healing and planning. Now, he and Alec owned their own resort, on their own private island near Belize.

A slight splash alerted him, so he was ready for the wet man climbing onto the float, threatening to overturn them both into the pool. Their combined weight caused the float to settle deeper, allowing warm water to seep in. So much for staying dry, he grimaced. He was unable to stay annoyed for long as Alec kissed the living daylights out of him. His hat fell unnoticed into the water.

When they finally came up for air, he asked, “What did Hart want?”

Alec draped himself against James’ side before speaking. “She said that the security committee has finally gotten off their arses. Moore has been reinstated and Laury’s been neutralized. Permanently. And she hates us, because she’s in London freezing her arse off while we’re here lazing around in the sun and enjoying ourselves.”

“She can come visit sometime,” James allowed generously. “What else did she say?”

“Wants to know if we’re going to stay retired.” Alec paused, and there was a look in his eyes that told James this was serious. “Are we? You know we’ll get bored.”

Rather than answer right away, James distracted himself with the way the light reflected off the droplets of water on Alec’s chest. He didn’t look at the brand new scar there. “We can always find something to keep us occupied.” He met Alec’s eyes with a wry grin. “I’ve heard Los Angeles is interesting. Can you see me as a private investigator?”

Alec struggled to keep a straight face, but failed, dissolving into helpless laughter, and James couldn’t help but join him.

When they’d both regained control, James said, “We’ll figure it out when the time comes.”

Alec studied him for a moment, then nodded once. “Later, then.” 

Relived that he’d bought himself some time, James refocused on the phone call. He was still curious. “Did Hart happen to say who they made the new M?” There were several contenders that he knew of.

“A woman, Olivia Mansfield. Hart _said_ she didn’t know anything about her.”

Hmmm. Not someone either of them knew. It was an odd feeling knowing he wasn’t able to demand more information, that he no longer had the right. “Well, I suppose we don’t have a need to know, do we?” Alec hummed in agreement, and James had the feeling there was something more, something that Alec wasn’t telling him. He waited, lifting an eyebrow.

Finally, Alec admitted, “Hart said there’s a new 007. They’ve given the poor sod your name, too.”

There it was. James turned the information over in his head, feeling as though he was poking a newly healed wound, and was surprised to find It didn’t hurt. He had no regrets, as long as he had Alec by his side. “Unlucky bastard. No new 006, yet?”

Alec relaxed, relieved at his response. “Of course not. I’m irreplaceable.”

James smiled and reached for him. “Of course you are.”

 


	9. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are looking up for James and Alec, but there's something - or someone - on the horizon, waiting to strike.

 

In a dacha outside Yalta, on the Crimean coast, a man shifted in bed, stifling a cry of pain. Nevertheless, someone heard. The overhead light flicked on, causing him to flinch from the brightness. “Turn that damn thing off!”

The lights clicked off, and a woman leaned over the man in bed. “Do you need your medication?”

The man opened his eyes again, feeling the stiff, scarred skin drag at his right eyelid. “Yes,” he growled, speaking no more than necessary as the same scars pulled at his lips and cheek. 

The woman turned on the smaller bedside lamp, then went to the bedroom door. She pushed it open and beckoned to the nurse waiting there, then turned back to the man in the bed. She stood guard while the nurse approached the bed, her sharp eyes keeping track of the other woman’s every movement.

“I have your medication here, sir,” the nurse said, laying some equipment on the bedside table. “Would you like —”

The man on the bed cared nothing for politeness. He snapped, “Just give it to me.”

The nurse, used to the man’s rudeness, said nothing more, although her lips thinned in disapproval. She rolled up the man’s pyjama sleeve, exposing the unburned skin of his left arm, and deftly tied a rubber tourniquet around the man’s biceps. Then she took the syringe from the table and uncapped it. 

The man on the bed hissed in frustration. “Now!”

The nurse jumped, looking at him in alarm, but hurriedly bent to her task — although she jammed the needle into the waiting vein with a little more force than necessary. She hid a grim smile at the man’s cry of pain.

When she was done, the woman who had stayed at the door said, “Get out.”

The nurse didn’t bother to turn to look at her. “Of course, Xenia Sergeyevna. If the colonel needs anything further —”

“If the colonel needs anything further, _I_ shall be sure to get it for him,” Xenia said, her posture dropping its casual pose to become predatory as her voice became colder than a Siberian winter. The nurse paled and fairly ran out of the room, hardly pausing to gather up her supplies.

The colonel closed his eyes with a sigh of relief as the morphine flowed through his veins. The explosion at Arkhangelsk had cost him. His rank, his reputation, his career, and his health. He no longer had the influence and connections in the Party that he once did, two things that he had been certain would carry him to the rank of general. Instead, he was relegated to this dacha at a distant cousin’s sufferance, disgraced. Someone needed to pay for this. “The only thing I need is revenge.” He took a deep breath and coughed harshly as his chemically-irritated lungs protested the movement.

“Of course,” Xenia Onatopp murmured, returning to the side of the bed. She silently handed him the oxygen mask and waited while he took a few breaths. Apparently satisfied he no longer needed her, Xenia turned back to her chair. She stopped short as a bony hand shot out and grabbed her with an oddly strong grip.

Dark eyes bored coldly into hers. “Find them. Kill them. Both.”

Xenia’s lips parted in a feral, anticipatory smile. “Of course, Colonel Ourumov. I shall see to it at once.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I love reviews, comments, and any other sort of communication. Feel free to stop in to say hi - you can find me on Tumblr at leavesdancing.tumblr.com


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